The Commute

I suppose I really don’t have that much to complain about with regard to my commute into work.  Although it is only 40 minutes of sheer frustration, it beats the hour and a half I used to have commuting to the big city.  Where the complaint lies is truly imbedded in the fact that I could probably pull off the 40 minute commute in 20 minutes or less if all the slow ass Sunday drivers will just get the hell outta the way!  (Yes, here we go again with me changing the world!)  New road rule people – if you are going to drive like a slug between the hours of 7 am and 10 am you MUST drive in the Geriatric Lane.  The rest of us who just want to get to where we are going will be in the Mach Four Racing lane.  You Geriatrics are NOT allowed in our lane.  Ever.  In our lane we are permitted to drive as fast as safely possible to get to our destination.  Dump trucks, semi trucks, slow ass cab drivers, people putting on make up or shaving and all other people who do not know how to use the gas pedal need to stay in the slower lane and/or get the hell outta the way.  Personally, I think this is a fantastic idea.  Think about how much better the morning and afternoon commutes will be?  Less time in the car, more time living.  It's win, win.  All those slow moving sloths will arrive to work in the morning without having had one person flip them the bird or frown at them as they attempt to pass.  What better way to start a day?  That and the rest of us just got 40 more minutes of doing what we want rather than sitting in our cars!

Sidney Crosby Sydrome

I have now officially discovered a new psychological illness for the big ole book of crazytown that the doctors use to diagnose psychological disorders.  I am sure my new found illness is just an updated form of some of the others listed such as the "Bobby Orr Syndrome" or the more well known "Wayne Gretzky Syndrome".  This new and improved problem duly dubbed "The Sidney Crosby Syndrome" is clearly a revised form with a more serious, pathological list of symptoms and consequences.  I would love to offer personal help to all the people afflicted with this disorder but alas I cannot be nice enough in this situation and nor do I want to be.  Here's my prescription: Get your head outta your ass!  You can spend all the money in the world, bribe (or sleep with) coaches, suck up to the right people, put your kid in every camp possible and guess what?  There is a really good chance your kid will NOT be the next Sidney Crosby.   Bottom line people - it doesn't matter where your kid plays, if he IS the next Sidney Crosby, people already know or are soon to find out.  I have seen things of late that only spell out a recipie for killing a kids love of the sport.  Oh, and guess what people?  They all end up in a Beer League somewhere.  All of them.

Road Trip of a Different Color

Road trip day one - Learned lesson number six thousand four hundred and eighty two: road trips are waaayyyy better and a whole lot more fun if you are not the manager of a team.  Oh. Ya. Baby.  Although we seemed to be experiencing some of the same reoccurring issues as past road trips (hotel rooms with paper thin walls, hotel staff putting one couple with no children on a floor with an entire hockey team - of nine and ten year olds, just to mention a few) I am lapping in the luxury of NOT having to deal with hotel management and parents who ask stupid questions.  This is the bomb.  I do believe that I have completely horrified my roommate just a tiny bit.  Pretty sure she thinks I am a raging alcoholic and maybe just a teeny bit crazy, but she seems to be dealing with it.  I will not embarrass myself.  I will not embarrass myself..... 

 

Road trip day two - up early, bright eyed, alert and ready for some hockey.  Have realized that my roommate is an excellent co-pilot and, although she has yet to confess, may have a teeny bit of the same neatness ocd gene hidden in her somewhere that I am becoming proud to be inflicted with.  I have found the perfect, tidy roommate.  Now to check her party tolerance levels.  Bunch of us went to "Oh My Aching Heart Lobster" for lunch.  That was fun.  Most likely will not be able to go there again without thinking about one of the young men jamming his finger up his nose at the table in the restaurant.  Um.  Dude.  We can see you!  Your lunch is coming!  Ah boys.  What can I say.

 

Road trip day two and a half - monsters swim, monsters eat, monsters swim again then the beloved lockdown of said monsters takes effect (lockdown at this point in the story is a funny play on words as the Coach the night before mistakenly called the hotel we were staying at San Quinten.  Turned out by the end of the trip we had dubbed the Warden as well!).  Movies and super healthy snacks (outright lie) are flowing so my roommate and I get the hell outta there in search of the parent party.  We creatively hid our beverages in coffee cups - brilliant idea I will take complete credit for - oh, except that after about five or six drinks the damn cup gets a little soggy.  Will be writing a note to Starbucks later to tell them to make better secondary beverage containers.  That letter will be followed by a letter to the law makers in the town we were staying in about the "alcohol in public" law.  Shit people, apparently you can walk all the hell over Vegas with open alcohol why not here?  If I can buy liquor at the freaking gas station or corner store why can't I enjoy it while sitting by the hotel pool.  Sorry....I story tangent diverted.  Back to the night:  Oh did we ever luck out in the parent department with this team!  Crazy Laughter Lady - who caused me to have a minor hernia from laughing so much - at her and with her.  A dad we now call Tiffany or Ficas - depending on which stolen and replaced elsewhere hotel item you saw him walking around with last.  The Chef, who we found out was an unassuming super cool chick who loves a good party!  My soul sister Statler was there in fine form with her wit and wisdom  Oh, and my young, almost underage, got id'd buying liquor roommate?  Holy Batman!  That girl can swill with the rest of us I tell ya.  I have not laughed that much in two short days I am pretty sure ever. 

 

Road trip day three - up early for the last hockey game.  Well it seemed early anyway what with going to bed at 1:30ish and the asshats next door getting up at 5:30.  I think there was a tumor growing directly behind my eyeballs for a few hours upon waking  (my Advil levitation technique was not working so I had to get up and take them manually!)  Hockey game rocked.  It was a great way to end the tournament and the weekend.  My kudos go out to the coaches and the manager (sucker!).  They were all amazing.  Greasy hangover food purchased shortly thereafter and we were off.  Back to reality.  The partay is over.  For now......  Oh and did I embarrass myself?  I am almost certain I did.  On more than one occasion.  But?  I was laughing to hard to care.